Hospitality
by nightdweller
Summary: Slow music, slow dancing, love, devotion. A love that lasts forever, till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old. Oneshot songfic. RWHG


Hospitality 

'I love thee, I love but thee With a love that shall not die 'Til the sun grows cold and the stars grow old' Bayard Taylor

The doors of St Mungos burst open of their own accord to reveal a dismal night. Rain slashed down, making it almost impossible to see through the torrent. Dark clouds obstructed the moon's light, making a mass of indistinguishable shadows of the London street.  
Slowly shapes began to materialise from the darkness, emerging triumphant. But their progress was not one of victory, their faces reflecting the night weather, salt droplets adding to the rain that beat the ground. For in their midst floated a figure, borne by the magic the companions possessed, broken and bleeding, black robes ripped and soaked. The group sprinted through the open doors, not caring about the water that dripped from them just intent on handing their friend over to the team of medi-witches that appeared in the entrance hall.

"What's his name?" A bald wizard called as he checked the body's pulse. Around him his team ran alongside, checking vitals, calling for various herbs and potions in a flurry of activity.

"Ron," a young wizard gasped, trying to regain his breath, his green eyes fixed on his friend. Rain had slicked his jet-black hair, sticking it to his face and covering the scar on his forehead. He followed them down the corner, a young girl with vibrant red hair that matched the bleeding mans at his elbow, her blue eyes so full of concern. Behind them marched two other men, identical to each other even down to the expression on their faces.

"Have you called her," one muttered to the other. His twin nodded, eyes fixed on his brother.

"She's on her way."

The next pair moved much slower, a man in shabby robes that had seen better days half supporting half carrying his pink haired companion who was waving away the attention of a Healer despite the blood running down her leg.

"Ron Weasley," the first wizard repeated.

The bald Healer nodded and started to talk to the unconscious form. But Ron couldn't hear him, didn't want to hear him, for he was lost in his memories, ones he didn't want to leave just yet.

\Forget the letters/

He watched her from the door, concealed from her sharp eyes that flew across the page in front of her, drinking in its knowledge as he drank in the image of her. Curled in the huge armchair she looked impossibly small, frail even, unable to stand in the path of such evil. But appearances can be deceptive. He knew she was unbelievably strong, stubborn, loyal to the point of madness and determined to never let him stand alone. Despite this knowledge, he wanted nothing more than fold her into his arms, frighten away all of her demons and hide her from this cruel, unfair world. But this was the one thing that was impossible, beyond his reach.

The medics gently lowered the still form onto the cold table, shouting commands as they began their battle. A drop of crimson wandered its way down the young man's face from his brilliant red hair.

\Just sleep sound tonight/

"I know you're there," she called suddenly, not looking up from the book in her lap.

Ron immediately flushed, feeling his ears glowing pink as he stepped from his hiding place. He grinned happily as he stepped closer, thankful for the rare, stolen moments alone.

"How do you do that?" He asked.

She looked up at him, dark eyes dancing with pleasure, twinkling with a shining light that he never thought possible. "I can always tell when you're near," she answered setting her book aside to give him all her attention, a feat she reserved for no one else. Stooping Ron kissed her gently on the lips, a tender moment that he dreamed of when they were apart. As he drew straight again she smiled biting her lower lip with her sparkling teeth and almost giggled before regaining her composure.

"What are you reading?" Ron continued oblivious to her reaction, leaning over to see the cover, feigning interest as an excuse to get closer, smell the scent of her hair and the warmth of her lightly tanned skin.

"Its on forming magical bonds," she supplied, unaware of his true intentions but delighting in how close he was. She could pick out the golden highlights of his hair and the way his blue eyes were darker in the centre. "Where you can share magic and, more importantly, energy. I thought it could help, you know, when the day comes." She watched his face grow serious. "We can't leave Harry to fight alone."

He would never know that she searched his blank face, hoping to catch a glimpse of his thoughts, his emotions, for him to open up to her. But his face remained still, betraying nothing. He would never know how she wept inside at that moment.

\Pull back the covers without a fight/

"Its getting late," Ron began, changing the subject that was too close to his heart. "Let's get some sleep."

He heard her sigh as she unfurled her leg, for once not arguing, her tiredness betrayed by the dark circles marring her complexion. Standing she busied herself with piling books onto the table, unaware how sad the eyes that watched her were. He started towards the door knowing that she would follow soon enough.

Ron picked his way to the bedroom they shared in Godric's Hollow, careful not to disturb the sounds of slumber coming from the rooms off the landing. He was sure he could hear giggling from the room Tonks and Remus had.  
Smiling to himself as he pushed open the door, changing quickly and slipped under the covers, his wand illuminating the rich red décor and carved bedposts, so different from what he grew up with.  
It wasn't long until she too eased under the covers, planting herself easily into his arms, her head on his chest to listen to the comforting sound of his heart beat as the wand light faded.

"Ron," she whispered into the darkness, gently tracing circles on his bare arm.

"Ummm," he grunted in reply, not opening his eyes.

"Can I ask you something?"

"If you must."

"Do you have any regrets?"

Ron's eyes flew open. She often came out with questions at this time of night but this was different. He lay in the darkness, staring into nothing thinking for a moment, looking for an answer that would appease her. All of a sudden a thought sprang to his mind, one he had never dwelt upon before.

"That I never asked you to dance at the Yule Ball in 4th year," he whispered, expecting her to laugh, shove him playfully and tell him that it was a silly, petty regret. But the more he thought the more the regret plagued him.  
But she did not giggle. Instead, to Ron's immense, surprise she threw back the covers and sprang from the bed.

"Right then," she declared briskly. "Dance with me now."

"W…what? Now?" Ron spluttered, grasping the covers as she lit the candles with a flick of her wand. She ignored his protest, just turned towards him with a look that made him fall silent.

"Shall we dance Ronald?" she whispered, extending her delicate hand towards him. The flickering candles, a thousand stars, bounced off her curls, highlighting her copper tones as the ringlets cascading around her face, aglow with an indescribable look as she gazed down upon him. At that moment she had never looked more radiant, in soft surroundings, wearing silky pyjamas and her hand waiting for his.  
All reason left him as he gazed captivated at the perfect vision in front of him, one that would last forever lingering on his memory, his hand finding hers of its own accord.  
With a flick of her wand the gramophone started, drifting music into the scene.

"What if it wakes someone?" He whispered.

"I don't really care."

And Ron found he didn't care either, all that mattered was in his arms, her skin against his; one hand on her waist drawing her close, the other covering hers close to his heart. And for that moment he didn't care if the world were crumbling around them.

\But as we dance by emergency light/

People surrounded him where he lay, staunching his blood, healing his limbs desperately, flashing yellow lights illuminating his broken body but he did not care. He was elsewhere, far away, dancing while emergency lights flashed all around.

The memory shifted, slowly replaced by another but elements remained.

Slow dancing, slow music, love, devotion.

Ron lay in the familiar Hogwarts infirmary, impeccably clean and white. In the corner lay Deloris Umbridge, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, unkempt hair full of twigs and leaves from her encounter with the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest.  
But he was not looking at that hateful woman. Instead his mind was more pleasantly engaged as he watched the occupant of the next bed. He watched her sleep, her face smooth and serene as she dreamed. Her countenance was so different from the one she had when she fumed about homework. She looked beautiful, heavenly almost, surrounded by a cloud of fresh white sheets.

Ron shook himself, dispelling the thought from his head. 'A friend,' he told himself firmly, 'a confident. Nothing more.'

But even as he told himself he felt his gaze drifting back. Desperately he tried looking elsewhere. His eyes found the potion bottles that covered her bedside table, waiting to be consumed the following morning with breakfast. His stomach gave a flip when he though about what could have happened, how the bed next to him could easily have stood unused.

Empty.

The thought hit him like a Bludger, blood draining from his face. Panic seized him. His heart felt like it was being ripped from his chest as tears sprang to his eyes. He could never have seen her face, heard her laugh, and touched her skin ever again. He would have missed the days of sunshine that deepened her skin, the uplifting rain blessing her hair and her smile in the soft star shine at night. She could have been gone, never to return and he would be left. Empty.

\His throat caught.  
I fail to swallow my tongue/

"I think," Ron whispered into the silent room. He weighed the words as he spoke finally putting all his thoughts together, determined to test them on her sleeping form when he could not be overheard. "I think that I am in love," he paused as she stirred, fearful that she would wake and he would not be able to say it. Slowly she settled again, nuzzling her cheek into the pillow, which Ron suddenly envied. "With you." He finished, his lips barely moving.

\And I'm still here bleeding/

"Come on boy!" a Healer shouted, casting a healing charm, trying to bind the lads torn flesh together unsuccessfully. He could see the faces of his colleagues darken, their attempts lessen. They were giving up. "No! Keep trying! We are not going to let him die!" He cast his spell again; swabbing away the brave mans blood. This was Ron Weasley, hero, who gave this blood freely so that others could be safe. "Fight."

\So pull this switch and see my body twitch/

The youngest Weasley boy did not know the turmoil that surrounded him, the spells that were cast making his body twitch. He was lost in the memories that had been his dreams for months.

\Oh, as we dance on this memory/

Slow dancing, slow music, love, devotion.

\A light left blinking on it's own And my blood is flowing Down through this machine/

But his would-be-saviours did not know what was deepest in his heart, what he desired above all else. He longed to be away from this world, with its cruelty, its hate and its imperfections. He begged to be released of his burden, of the cause that no longer mattered. He knew a place where he could be free, a place of true perfection. He wanted to die.

\In hope and desire I hope I expire/

"Don't you understand?" Ron fumed, face red from shouting, his chest heaving. But behind his livid mask, he was scared, so scared he wanted to cry, to hide away from prying eyes, to be held in her arms and hold her close. "You could have been killed!" The words cut him deeper than he ever could have imagined, words that, like a scar, never faded but remained there, a constant reminder.

"Don't you think I know that!" she snapped back, eyes aflame, as she held her own in the argument. She was sitting in her usual armchair, the fire crackling beside her making shadows dance across her face, disguising her defiant glare. Crookshanks was curled up on her lap, his squinting eyes fixed on Ron, his expression imitating that of his mistress.

"Then why?" He cried. "Why did you let that scum live?" Didn't she know that every time she stepped out to fight she broke his heart again and again? "Why didn't you kill him when you had the chance?" He sat down heavily, his knees suddenly too tired to hold him up any longer.

"Because I realised," she hissed back. "That if I did, I would be just like him. A monster, incapable of feeling, killing simply because I can." The light flickered, showing her expression to be a mixture of anger and anguish. "And I wont let that happen to you either. Please understand that death is too good for them. They have to tried."

"But he could have killed you. And he would have given the chance."

"But he didn't get that chance," she stated simply. "I'm still here."

\Turn off this machine/

"Sir, we're loosing him," shouted a witch, a pink spark bursting from her wand.

"Bring him back," ordered the bald wizard, adding his own light, this time purple.

"And I'm not going anywhere."

Ron sat silently, staring into nothing as his anger slowly died. But his fear still remained. He was useless, he could not protect her from outside dangers and the thought tore at his heart.  
He glanced up as her hand appeared on his knee.

"But this is not about me failing to kill a Death Eater," she said, her tone soft as she caught his eyes with hers.

"No…" he started to protest but she over ruled him.

"You're worried that I'm going to up and die on you." Ron stared at her. How did she know what was going on his head when he could barely read hers? Did she know him so well?

"N…no," he stuttered at her blunt statement, desperately trying to cover his true feelings, control his features, betray nothing. Somehow if he admitted that her death would destroy him, it would make it seem more real, he'd have to face reality.

\Cause this is the only thing that's keeping me alive/

"For God sake Ron," she cursed, seeing through his clumsy mask. "Talk to me," she begged, leaning closer still till she knelt beside him. "You can't protect me. " She seized his chin in a surprisingly strong grip, forcing him to look at her when all he wanted to do was look away. "You can't wrap me up in cotton wool and hide me from the world. It doesn't work that way. I chose this life Ron, I chose you."

He stared at her as she spoke, unable to respond his tongue clumsy in his mouth. She gazed back, eyes shining with tears but so powerful at the same time.

"Don't you realise that I feel the same way?" she whispered.

Slowly understanding dawned on Ron. He had never thought, never considered that she would want to protect him, fight away his demons and shelter him as he so longed to do for her.

\Turn off this machine/

"I'm just so tired of being afraid," he admitted finally, his voice strained and coarse. He took the hand that held his chin, no longer needed, and folded it into his own. He could not bear to look into her honest eyes that saw to the darkest regions of his soul. "Afraid that every moment may be the last. Afraid that I will never see you again. Afraid that I will never be able to say goodbye."

He released the heart rendering thoughts that he had kept chained to his chest for so long, feeling the rush of freedom as she spoke.

"Only the dead do not fear," she replied.

"Then you're the only thing keeping me alive."

She stared at him sadly, feeling a single tear running down her face. She longed to hold him close, to comfort him, to say that everything will be all right. But she couldn't, she couldn't lie.

"I can't make any promises," she sighed. "I wish I could. But I can say this," his blue eyes met hers. "I love you," she said fiercely. "More than I thought I could love anyone. I would go through hell for you. I will never leave you. And if I should die…" she faltered, loosing her way as her eyes slipped from his, suddenly haunted. Quickly she swallowed, attempting to recover. "If I should die, I wont let a silly little thing like that get in the way. I will love you until the end of time"

Ron stared as her eyes flicked back to his, her smile weak. His heart overflowed with affection. Slowly he slipped from the sofa until he knelt in front of her.

"This war means nothing to me without you," he bent kissing the hand he held in his before pressing his forehead against. He felt her rest her head on his. "And if I were to die," like her, he faltered. "And leave you behind, I would wait till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old for one last dance."

With his final words he gave every piece of his soul to her, joining the heart she already possessed.

\Cause this is the only thing that's keeping me alive/

Far away Ron could hear someone calling his name, a mystery voice that reached him on the wind that did not exist.

"He's back," the witch shouted. "We got him"

Efforts doubled to heal the war hero lying on the table before them, his life's blood flowing.

\So pull this switch and see my body twitch/

The room was cool and tidy but Ron did not feel the chill that hung in the air or the carefully ordered items. His attention was focused on the single bed in the centre of the room as he lingered in the doorway, blocking the bluish light and casting his gangly frame into the room further than he dared to tread. Eventually he forced his feet to move, stepping softly, fearing to wake the form on the ice white sheets.

There she lay, her beautiful eyes closed in slumber, surrounded by the cloud of white, just like that night back at Hogwarts. Her dark brown ringlets caressed her cheeks, graced her shoulders, fanning out to surround her, curls strewn across the pillow. There laid the angel he had danced with a lifetime ago. His feet longed to remember the steps and trace them across the floor.

Slow music, slow dancing, love, devotion.

\As we dance on this memory/

But something was wrong. She did not stir as he drew closer, his shoes the only echo to be heard. Her eyelids did not flicker as she dreamed, visions of perfection full of him, as they so often were. The rose of life was gone from her once blooming cheeks; her skin had lost its radiant glow, leaving her pale, her lips bloodless. She was still, her limbs resting for the first time in so long. And her chest, it failed to rise and fall.

He leaned closer, looking into the face that he knew so well. The lines of worry, tiredness and pain had disappeared from her countenance, left smooth and clear. So calm was her expression it was as though she were in the deepest of slumbers waiting to be woken by true love's kiss.

A thought sprang to the forefront of his mind, pushing aside th grief he had yet to let slip, shining a faint light of hope onto his despair.

True love's kiss.

Ron reached out to her, to cup her cheek in his palm like he had done so many times before. But he couldn't. He recoiled from the chill emanating from her, so unlike the burning touch he was used to. Steeling himself he kissed her frozen lips, as beautiful but as lifeless as marble, his heart and soul screaming, hoping that somehow she would hear him, halt her trek to where he could not follow. Hoping she would return to him. He gave all his love in that final kiss, willing her heart to beat with his.

\Despair has devoured me whole/

No life stirred. There was no sharp intake of breath, no awakening of pulse just nothing. Empty.

His heart broke into a thousand pieces as tears cascaded unashamedly down his face, falling to the pure sheets.  
He gathered her to his chest, burying his flaming head into her curls, sobs escalating to a scream, a scream of frustration, of loss and longing and of a soul being torn in half.

\A seed won't grow from this soul/

"Its not fair," he howled like a wounded animal, holding her close and tight as though he feared to let go. "Why did you go so soon? You weren't meant to, you weren't meant to leave me here alone, not yet." He eased himself away slightly, so he could look into her face and talk to her in the same way he had done countless numbers of times. He wanted to shake her, wake her, bring her back but there was nothing he could do to save her. There was nothing he could do to save himself.

\This pill won't cure my disease/

"This world means nothing without you," he whispered, his tears falling onto her stone face. "This war has no meaning, no cause. Everything that meant anything is gone." He gazed into her calm face, longing for her to wipe his tears away. "There is nothing here for me anymore." Strangely he smiled as he gazed, a smile of pride. "They told me you were brave, that you fought to hold on. They even said you tried to speak. But…" he faltered, finding the words. "But you were too badly hurt to stay with me." He traced a tender finger down her face, over the smooth skin he knew. Overcome he pulled her close, his beating heart against her still one. "You didn't even get to say goodbye," he sobbed, his voice muffled as he rocked slowly back and forth.

\Can't you kill this beating heart/

The voice shouted again, edging ever closer as though promising eternity.

"Mr Weasley," a witch whispered. "Ron, we're trying to help, just hold on. You know you can, hold on Ron Weasley." She looked at his face, the one that appeared on all the newspaper covers. He was a hero and heroes live forever.

"He appears to be stabilising, but still critical, that could slip at any moment," a healer called hoping to rally the team.

\Turn off this machine/

Ron stared into the fire, watching it flare and dance before his dead eyes. The glass teetered precariously in his hand, the brown liquid sloshing the side but he was too absorbed to notice.  
His skin was drawn tight across his angled features, paler than it had ever been before. Bags hung under his eyes but he knew that he could not close his cold blue irises. He knew he would see her face, hear her laugh and bask in the life that had been so easily snuffed out. He knew they would dance, be held close in her arms only to be ripped away by harsh, cruel reality. But he was tempted to face that for one last glance.

\Cause this is the only thing that's keeping me alive/

He felt another collapse into the chair next to him but he did not look up, spellbound by the flames endless flicker.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" Ron knew the voice. It belonged to a man the same age as him with eyes like emeralds and hair of blackest jet. His best friend. But this man could not understand. He still had his love, Ron's very sister, he still had a future and still had his chance for happiness.

"Why do you sit here, night after night?" His best friend continued, not hearing the thought in Ron's head, not in the way she did. Still there was no reply; just the heart rendering silent cry of a man whose soul had been broken in two. But Harry did not leave the mute Weasley but sat steadfast and loyal.

"Perhaps I'm waiting," Ron croaked over the crackle of the flames that so distracted him.

"Waiting for what?" Harry asked. Ron remained silent. "Waiting for her? She is not coming Ron." His tone took on a harsher quality. "And you have to realise it sometime." The-boy-who-lived jumped from his seat and planted himself in Ron's vision forcing Ron to look at him. "She is dead," he hissed, emphasising each syllable.

"I know," Ron whispered, holding the green gaze, his expression unchanged. Harry looked surprised before recovering.

"Then snap out of it," Harry half ordered, half begged. "She wouldn't want you to live your life like this, drowning in drink." He seized the glass from his friend and chucked it into the fire, where it exploded in a ball of flame. Ron remained still, unflinching; knowing he never really wanted it anyway and rarely touched a drop. Harry did not know him like he used to. Instead he followed Harry with his eyes as the latter crossed to the window to stare into the darkness.

"Now," Harry began, his tone changing to one of business. "They told me you were reckless today, charging head long into battle like you don't care. You have to understand that that sort of attitude not only puts you a risk but also the lives of your team."

"Maybe I am waiting for something," Ron whispered cutting Harry short as he reverted to their original topic.

"What?" Harry demanded, not understanding this sudden outburst.

"Maybe I'm waiting to die."

\Turn off this machine/

There was silence, with the fire crackling as Harry froze.

"What?" he repeated, his tone weak and feeble.

"This life is not what I want anymore," Ron admitted. "This cause, it means nothing to me now."

"You can't mean that," Harry whispered, turning from the window. "This is what we have been fighting for all our adult lives. We want the same things, to be free from Voldemort."

"We wanted the same things," Ron corrected. "Everything I dreamed of, everything I ever wanted died with her. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. The price of fighting has been too great for me."

"But what about your friends, your family?" Harry protested, growing angry as he advanced on his friend. "How can you totally disregard their feelings?"

"I'm not happy Harry and I never will be. I love you, I love my family but I cant stay here. I cant live anymore." Ron looked into his friend's tortured face. "I can't live without her."

"You lived perfectly fine before you met her," Harry argued, resisting the urge to seize Ron's collar. "Before you got together, before Hogwarts, you were whole."

"I existed," Ron answered. "I did not live, just existed with no meaning or purpose. I was waiting for the thing that would make me complete, make me whole. And that was her. With her I was alive, every fibre of me. Now I am broken. Empty."

"And you think that dying will make you happy?" Harry roared, his temper getting the better of him, his body shaking with fury.

Ron stood up, knocking his chair over backward as he drew himself up to his full, considerable height, dwarfing his friend. Though his voice matched Harry's, his eyes remained cold imitations.

"You don't understand. Yes you're parents are dead but you haven't had you're heart torn in two. You still have what you live for! What you love! You have a future where you can be happy! I have lost mine in this world. Maybe I'll have a chance in the next." Ron stepped forward. "Damn it Harry I would die with a smile on my lips if I saw her just one last time."

Harry sat down slowly, his head falling into his hands. Ron sighed blinking back tears as he watched his friend assume such a defeated position.

"But I'm scared Harry," Ron continued, his voice falling to what it had been. "I'm scared of death. I'm scared of dying a coward, that I'll shame her. I could never do that."

"Then don't," Harry croaked. "If you have to die, die like her, fighting for the cause she believed in, the cause we still fight for."

"Don't you think I've tried that?" Ron snapped frustrated.

"You always said that it was fate for you two," Harry remembered. "If you still believe that, then let fate decide whether you should be together again."

Ron nodded and sat beside his friend. He could not stand to look at his tear stained face.

"I still need you," the man with the jet-black hair whispered, so quietly he could barely be heard. "You know that?"

For the first time his flame-haired companion looked torn, as he stared once again at the hypnotic fire.

"I know. And we'll be there. Both of us."

\Cause this is the only thing that's keeping me alive/

The voice was so close now, pulling him closer and closer. It whispered his name, a calling he had to answer. Just one more step, but something was holding him back an anchor weighing him down.

\Please nurse my batteries are running low/

" His vitals are dropping," the young witch announced, monitoring the body religiously. The voice was tight but she was young, she had yet to get used to this life.

"Lets pick up the pace people," ordered the Head Healer in an upbeat tone. "Watkins stop that bleeding."

"Sir it's impossible, the blood won't stop," Watkins moaned desperately trying to stave the flow with every spell he knew.

"He can't go on like this," muttered the young witch, her voice muffled by the mask she wore over her face as she glanced at the mans face. Ron Weasley, friend, hero, true, tortured. "He's tired."

He flitted through the memories of his life but he paid them no notice. The rope bound him still, stopping his wings from spreading. And still the voice called so enticing but so unknown, mystical in its song. It confused him? Should he follow the voice, whether to rock or to safety or should he heed what held him in this limbo?

He wandered in his memories, a weary traveller not sure where he came from or where his journey would end. But deep down, under the fatigue and frustration the traveller was swallowed by fear, scared of being left to wander alone, scared that he would not reach where he was meant to be.

\Please nurse oh I think I'm running low/

"We have multiple organ failure," the young witch called, standing back to give more experienced hands room to work.

"Bugger," a man cursed. "Applegate keep his heart pumping for as long as possible. You," he ordered the young witch. "Keep him breathing, put him on the support. Everyone else get those organs back on line. Come on this is a hero. Let's send him home."

His mind was cold and dark as though all functions had stopped. But the voice still called around him and somehow he knew that he should reach out and grasp the hand that it seemed to offer. It seemed the right thing to do, what fate wanted.

\Left here swallowed by this fear/

The young witch kept his chest heaving, drawing in much needed oxygen as she watched the mass of spells being poured into his young body. An aura of multicoloured lights built up around him as the healers desperately worked. The lights dazzled her eyes but she could not look away, instead she felt the magic coursing through the air around her.

The rope tightened around him, pulling stronger, holding faster as though preparing to draw him in. Around him the voice was fading. Overwhelming fear gripped him. The rope could not draw him away, it was not where he was meant to be, where he was needed. He wanted a life that was full, not a shadow, a poor imitation of happiness.

\That you will always keep me here/

"No!" he shouted, his voice lost as soon as the words escaped. "I don't want to go back!"

He looked down at the rope but found that it was not tied around him. Instead he held the bond in his white knuckled fist. Ron realised that he did not cling for himself but for others, the ones closest to his heart. Their faces flashed before him, part of his happiest memories, his final thoughts.

He closed his eyes and let go.

"Sir," whispered the young witch, laying a hand on the Healers arm. "He's gone already. We have to stop."

The man stared up at her, his eyes begging not to give up but somehow he knew she was right. Ron Weasley was not meant for this world. Slowly he nodded, letting this young girls words sink into him. His team stepped back from their tasks in silence, recognising the vacant signs of life as Applegate began to wind down the charm that kept the young man's heart bleeding and the young witch edged forward to switch off his breathing support.

\To close your eyes and pray for this to go away/

He did not dare open his eyes, afraid of what would meet his vision. Instead he remained in darkness, wrapped in a spell that waited to be broken.

Then something touched his lips, soft and smooth and warm like a longed for embrace. Affectionate heat spread through him, rushing around him with terrifying energy after lying dormant for so long. Every sense awakened as though it could feel the sun shine and taste the wind, opening like a blooming rose in early spring, a brilliant patch of colour. Every fibre of his being rejoiced at the tender kiss, so simple yet so powerful, chasing away every doubt and shadow from his mind and heart.

He had come home.

And true love's kiss broke the spell, just as it had in so many tales. He opened his eyes.

The young witch looked into the young man's face so true and honest but growing pale. She glanced at Applegate as he finished the spell, nodding for her to do the same. She raised her wand to lift her own. Just as she spoke the final words, his eyes flared open, clear and blue but unseeing. The young witch stumbled back in surprise as his face spread into a smile, so beautiful and kind it was as though he had found what he had been searching for all his life. She stepped closer, thinking that perhaps he was fighting back but the spell had been lifted.

But as she drew close, with the Healers staring shocked at his smiling features, she was certain she heard him whisper, with his final breath, a word that sounded holy and perfect on his lips.

"Hermione."

\Cause I'm not angry, tired or sore/

Harry lingered in the doorway, mustering the courage to enter. With a decisive stride he approached his still best friend. The Healer had told him his red haired friend was dead but somehow Harry thought they were lying, a harsh cruel trick. But now he stood in the white glow of the lights, tears leaking from his eyes as he gazed at the still figure before him surrounded by such alien instruments. He touched Ron's hand, hoping for a little warmth but there was nothing but ice. The man sobbed, unashamed of the damp on his cheeks, over his friend's torn and dirty robes, rips his mother would have gladly mended.

Finally Harry's emerald eyes travelled to his friends face and the simple smile that rested there.

\More of a man than I was before/

Suddenly Harry remembered. That smile could only mean one thing. A beaming grin spread across his face though tears still steamed. Fate had decided.

"See you soon," Harry whispered, confidently. "Both of you."

With a final glance, a slight laugh spilling from his lips that contrasted so with his watering eyes; Harry turned and marched away, his stride strong and confident, knowing his friends wish had been fulfilled. And so he returned to the fray, holding his two friends in his heart.

\Is this the cause I'm looking for/

"Shall we dance, Ronald?" Hermione whispered, extending her hand towards him, eyes dancing with an inner light, her vivacious curls bouncing down her back, spilling over the black evening dress she wore. Soft music played around them, lighter than bird's song, as soft as feathers, the stars shining above them. Ron recognised the faces of the people that wandered round them, some dancing, some laughing merrily but he did not care about them. All he cared about was her and, this time, he did not hesitate.

\I plead forgive me/

He took her hand, pulling her closer, all thought escaping him as he held her close for the first time in so long. She gazed into his face, her smile charming and ecstatic as he was, drinking in his every feature. Reaching up she traced the freckles she knew so well, her hand trembling slightly as she touched his skin as though she feared he was a mirage, a perfect vision that would disappear with a stroke like the reflection on water. But he did not ripple and vanish. He leant into her hand, loving their contact as he held her other hand close to his chest, unwilling to let a single part of her go ever again.

\Cause I'm no martyr/

"You waited for me?" he whispered, his blue eyes melting into her smouldering brown. He could barely believe that he was here, that his risk had paid off and brought him a reward greater than any jewel.

"Of course I did," she replied, her voice rather breathless, the very air from her lungs stolen by him as she drew her hand away. "I made a promise that I would never leave and I haven't. I never did." She placed her head on his chest, drawing in his scent, the very essence of him, pleased to be so close and to know that nothing would separate them ever again. He buried his head in her curls, kissing the top of her head, enjoying the longed for moment when all that mattered was in his arms.

\Is this the cause that I'm looking for/

"Oh Ron," she sighed. "I've missed you but I knew you would come."

"I love you," Ron said truthfully, squeezing her tighter.

"And I love you," she answered, just as truthfully. "More than you'll ever know."

She broke from his chest, to glance up into his eyes, her face suddenly serious.

\I plead forgive me/

"I have been waiting for so long," she admitted, finding it hard to hold his gaze. " I have wished you here beside me so often, hoping that you would come. I watched you, you know, you were so miserable my heart bled for you but you had Harry and Ginny to help you." She finally broke, looking down at the floor. "I was scared that you would realise you wanted to stay there with them, I was scared you would leave me." She looked quickly up at him, her eyes glistening in the starlight. " I was selfish, I never should have doubted you. Can you forgive me?"

A single tear trickled down her cheek, her perfect cheek, leaving a shining trail.

\Cause I'm no martyr/

Tenderly he wiped away he tear, running his thumb over her blushing skin.

"There is nothing to forgive you for," he replied. "I did not die a martyr. I died for love of you; to be with you because that's the way it was always meant to be. Fate made it that way." He smiled down at her, watching her recall the memory. Slowly a teary smile spread across her face. " We have forever, Hermione," he whispered. "'Til the sun grows cold and the stars grow old. I have forever to show you how much you mean to me."

\Is this the cause that I'm looking for/

She smiled up a him, her grin growing larger and larger mirroring his, eventually overflowing into a giggle. He spun her out as she laughed, the star shine bouncing off her curls, his flaming hair blazing as they moved to together.

\Cause I'm not angry, tired or sore/

Ron laughed as well, enjoying everything now that all his fears and doubts had evaporated. All the anger had drained from him, tiredness had left his limbs leaving him refreshed. Hermione revelled in his deep rumbling laugh, rejoicing as the sound washed over better that any music as he drew her close again, safe in his arms.

The soft music drifted around them as their eyes closed, every sense alive to taste the wind and feeling every fibre of the other. In his arms she was safe, loved beyond all measure that she could almost grasp it. His arms held back any guilt she had felt, leaving her tranquil and thankful for such protection, her heart bursting with love. In her embrace he could face the world, fight any foe, finally whole both body and soul. Her touch promised him shelter and that if he were to ever fall, she would catch him as she always had, her love beyond compare to any but his.

\More of a man than I was before/

Her absence had made him realise how he took her for granted, even the tiny things that added all together made her perfect. Her lop-sided smile; always ready to shine out in his darkest hour, her comforting touch, her helping hand. He had grown, become more then the man he had been because he realised that you never know what you have until it is taken away.

And she knew this difference, felt it in his touch, the way he held her so tight, the longing and lingering kiss he placed gently but forcefully on her lips. Yet she knew it was the image of her own feelings, her delicate fingers tracing the slight curl in his hair.

\Is this the cause that I'm looking for/

And so they danced as they had so long ago, each finding that they could spend eternity lost in the other.

Slow music, slow dancing, love, devotion.

\Cause I'm not angry, tired or sore/

Finally Ron broke their silence, stepping back slightly so he could glance around the room at the people he had known in life. Dumbledore stood in the corner talking and laughing merrily to a tall handsome man, his features marking him as Sirius Black but his face was fuller and healthy as it had before his years in Azkaban. His eyes flickered back to Hermione's, who was watching him intently.

\More of a man than I was before/

"Why are we here?" Ron asked his burning question, breaking their silence. "Is this what heaven is? Not that I mind," he added hurriedly, catching the look she gave him. "Not that I mind at all."

"We're waiting," she answered simply, smiling, amused by his hasty recovery. The music continued as they paused, the others dancing not complaining but easily skirting round them.

\Is this the cause that I'm looking for/

"Waiting?" Ron asked, frowning in confusion as he looked down at Hermione. He had all he wanted. There was nothing to wait for. Did she want something that he couldn't give? It was hard to keep the hurt tone from his voice "Waiting for what?"

"For the others," she replied matter-of-factly but her eyes watched him carefully, expecting some sort of extreme reaction.

\I plead forgive me/

Shock and realisation hit Ron like a bucket of cold water. He had forgot the people he had left behind, the ones who mourned his passing. His mother, his father, his brothers, Harry, Ginny, everyone he had ever met and cared for. He had been selfish and now they would never know he was happy, where he wanted to be. Guilt surged through him.

Hermione watched his expression fall, knowing it had been the same for her when she thought of all those she had left behind, though the blow had been somewhat lessened by the arrival of the love of her life. She could not pretend that she did not miss them also but there was a small truth that did comfort her.

She took his face in her cool hands firmly but with care that only love can bring, holding him place forcing him to look at her.

\Cause I'm no martyr/

"You will see them again," she reassured firmly, so certain that this was true. "We'll all be together again, as it was meant to be." She gazed into his eyes her expression so strong, so sure that it melted any doubt in him. "Soon, Ron, soon."

But a second thought edged its way into his mind.

"But not yet?" he said half hopeful, half unsure. As much as he wanted to see all his friends again, he wanted them to live their lives to the full. Be happy, be victorious in their cause and live happily ever after. Ginny, Harry, Fred, George; they all had the opportunity to live that he never had after Hermione's death. They had their lives ahead of them, lives that did not involve him and for that he was glad. They were no longer his cause. He had all he wanted.

\You're not the cause that I'm looking for/

Hermione smiled, expecting his answer. The twinkling of life never left her eyes, making it seem as though she danced though she stood still, her countenance so pure and perfect it was angelic. Soft star shine illuminated her, his everything. Her smile was all knowing, so confident, so sure as she spoke, barely a whisper but he heard.

"Not yet."

Disclaimer: I own nothing from this little fic except for the plot. Characters are JKRowlings and lyrics are by Funeral For a Friend.

AN: This fic is part of the Hours Collection I hope you liked it, now press the lil purple button.

AN2: For more go and read Drive and The End of Nothing: coming soon Monsters

AN3: Hunter's Moon will be updated soon.


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